


What Happens In Arizona, Haunts You Forever

by KuriNCIS (KuriKoer)



Series: Wake Up Call [6]
Category: NCIS, Queer as Folk (UK)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Orientation, Rimming, Some angst, anonymous, faux-straight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 09:11:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuriKoer/pseuds/KuriNCIS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One other thing that happened to Tony in Arizona.<br/>Timeline: takes place before NCIS S1, after QAF UK S2</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens In Arizona, Haunts You Forever

**Author's Note:**

> _Quote, Bounce (6x16):_  
>  Tony: Valley fever.  
>  Ducky: Very good, Anthony. How did you know...  
>  Tony: Long story. Let's just say I'm not going back to Arizona anytime soon. 

The first time he'd been to Arizona, Tony didn't just get Valley Fever - which is a lung infection, and really, what is it with him and freakish lung damage? - but he also met with one of his greatest fears.

Someone who looked behind the mask.

Someone who strutted right up to him, looked him right in the eye, and knew what Tony didn't want him to know.

"Hello there," the stranger said, an intent light in his gaze. His accent was so foreign that the local girl Tony was with melted at it; she dropped her arm from his and batted her eyelashes at the newcomer. He ignored her entirely, keeping his eyes trained on Tony's, and Tony knew the poor woman's aim was way, way off. He could sense a predator, and his internal alarm bells were going crazy.

So he opted for irritation; best defense is offense, right?

"Do you mind? We're busy here," he huffed, wrapping his arm around the girl. Her name was Dakota, she lived in Arizona; he’d bought her a drink and they flirted. Now, she only had eyes for this new guy. Who still looked like he only had eyes for Tony.

"I don't think you'll be that busy later tonight," the guy said, meaningfully, gaze raking down Tony's chest and back up. Tony, inadvertently, felt himself doing the same, when something caught his attention.

His arm dropped from the girl, conveniently placing his hand by his holster. "Hey, is that a gun?"

"No, I'm just happy to see you," the guy retorted bluntly, and then pushed the edge of his jacket aside. "Oh that? It's just plastic." He took it out and waved it. People ducked; a few screamed.

"I'm a cop, just so you know," Tony said, subtly exposing his own very real gun. The girl at his side flinched away, finding the situation suddenly distasteful. "Put that away."

The guy did, but he responded only to the first part of what Tony said. "I get it. Hush-hush, right?" He smirked, and Tony felt a shiver run down his spine, which he chose to identify as anger. "Don't worry," the guy continued, "I won't tell if you won't."

It was way, way too suggestive. Like he knew something. A complete stranger in a pretty much strange land - Tony wasn't keen on rural Arizona with its dust and its painfully thorny flora and fauna - who knew something that no one in Tony's life knew, something that Tony kept telling himself even _he_ didn't know.

It wasn't something easily ignored, but Tony had experience. He bravely suppressed quite a lot of issues and past hurts, and this thing he sometimes felt, what he sometimes found attractive, was just another notch in a very long list. He didn't even allow himself to fool around in college, where a lot of the other straight guys had, blaming drunkenness. Never Tony. He only dated girls.

Someone told him a joke once, 'what's the difference between a straight frat boy and a gay frat boy? A six pack o' beer'. Tony laughed with the others, and after that, he drank less.

It wasn't that he had anything against gay guys, he kept telling himself, it's just that he really, really didn't want to be one. Why? Well, finding _that_ out would have to mean looking at the problem, and the problem, Tony insisted to himself, didn't exist, and if it didn't exist, there wasn't anything to look at. End of story. It was a circular argument and he knew it, but he refused to examine even that too closely.

So he dated girls. Laughed with the guys. Worked hard, and worked as hard at being macho and being Casanova, under the assumption that Casanova was straight, and never once thought about what it all meant for his future, or what he'd do when one of the women he dated wondered why he always left.

And sometimes guys hit on him, because, well, he was hot and he was Tony DiNozzo, and he always said gently, politely, that he was straight, and they always backed off.

This one didn't.

An Irish tourist in an Arizona bus stop diner, stranger in a straight land, and he looked at Tony like he knew damn well that Tony was looking at him, thinking about him, clutching at poor Dakota like she was a life jacket, or really a buoy, marking the border of where he wouldn't go.

"How about you ditch little miss bleached pubes over here and we go someplace... where I can show you my gun?" The laughter in those eyes was daring, mocking.

"What? You... what?" Tony sputtered, indignant, but the girl already sidled away, uncomfortable with all the weapons brandished, and with the tension she felt but didn't understand.

"Small town innocence, bless," the guy said, and his eyes sparkled blue. Tony always liked men with blue eyes and dark hair and... was that a hand brushing against the front of his slacks?

"I think you got it wrong, pal," he said, low and dangerous.

"I think I got it incredibly right," the guy returned, fearless and smirking. "What're ya scared of? No one here knows you."

"How do you know that?" Tony hazarded.

"You stand out more than I do," the guy said, low and amused and warm, suggestive, a voice that went to Tony's balls and tickled there. At some point he stepped closer, and now Tony was so close he had to look down to meet his eyes. The scent of cheap hotel shampoo somehow made him more alluring. He was right; no one here knew either of them.

Which should not have been any kind of an argument for or against, Tony thought, because he was _straight_ , he was, and the invitation was not tempting at all, was just misguided, as misguided as when Dakota eyed this guy, only in the other direction. Misguided and wrong.

"Look, I'm straight," he finally said, lips dry, and knew this time he wasn't even convincing himself.

"I never said you weren't," the guy said, a rumbling whisper that only Tony could hear now, and pressed his hand, blatant and careless and shocking, against what Tony knew to be his already half-hard erection. "Now, wanna go someplace?"

Tony saw a bathroom in the back before he came in and didn't want to remember that but somehow found himself walking there purposefully with the guy right behind him, very close behind him, brushing against him in full view of the parking lot and he was as terrified as being shot at, and he felt high on endorphins and pheromones and all that stuff you got high on when you were thinking about sex. All about sex.

The key was tied to the door with a string. Tony unlocked the door, pulled the string in, and was pushed hard and sudden against the back wall, next to the sink, being kissed within an inch of his life. Tongue pushed into his mouth and warm lips wet against his, and hands sliding under his jacket and undoing his shirt, and Tony hadn't kissed a boy since he was eleven and that was the last time, the very last time.

He kissed the guy back, resting his hands on firm, wiry shoulders, a little hesitant compared to the fervent assault, but he was doing a good job, he thought, until the guy's wicked hand slipped inside his pants and Tony stopped breathing. Stopped moving, except his hips thrusting forward, completely unguided by his brain. But that's how the best sex worked, wasn't it, that treacherous brain whispered to him, before it relinquished control entirely. Tony resumed breathing, moving, kissing, grasping desperately at this guy, this stranger's shirt, shoving it out of the way and touching, holding, clutching at him with a kind of desperation he was unprepared for. The guy moaned and pushed back, leg between Tony's and one hand undoing his zipper, and Tony wanted more, ached for more.

Warm, smoky voice in his ear. "What do you want to do, straight boy?"

The guy was mocking him, but Tony didn't care. "Dunno," he shrugged, then licked under the guy's ear, biting down lightly. "You're the expert."

"Hmmm, yeah." The guy sounded deep in thought. He pulled Tony's dick out of his pants and started massaging it slowly. "Like this?"

"Yeah," Tony groaned. It was exquisite. Masturbation may be banal, but it had its perks, if the hands involved were skilled enough, and this one knew what it was doing.

The guy fumbled with his own pants for a moment and then, very suddenly, Tony felt - glanced down and saw - the guy's hand was on him again, jerking both their cocks together. Pressed together. Tony gulped. It was slick and hot and different, and hard, and he felt his knees buckling.

"Like that?", the guy whispered, hard and demanding and knowing.

"More than I thought I would," Tony replied honestly, grunting and pushing into that hot grip, that hot, knowing, mind-melting grip.

"Want a blow job?", the guy suddenly asked, casual, almost off-handed, though his hands were very much still on Tony.

"What? Yeah!" Tony blurted, because what guy said no to that, but then he thought of something, a shred of surviving brain cell making itself known. "Wait, I don't know if I can... I mean," he choked on the words, what did he think he could do with the real thing? "Not sure I can return the favor."

"No one asked you to," the guy replied bluntly, and then dropped, quick like a snake, Tony thought dazedly, falling on his knees on the filthy floor and swallowing the head of Tony's dick into his mouth with one move.

There wasn't much Tony thought possible that could make him nearly come in a second, but this was close. In fact, he probably would have, except the guy pulled back immediately and said, "Lean back."

Tony did, letting his back rest against the wall, not thinking about the plaster's no-doubt interesting past.

"Spread 'em a little, copper," the guy said with a smile.

"No, wait, what for?" Tony tried not to panic.

"Trust me," the guy said in a soothing tone, and patted his thigh. "I'm not gonna do anything you don't like back there." He licked a long stripe up the underside of Tony's cock, letting it cool in the air.

"Okay," Tony said weakly, unthinking, and made some room.

The next lick went the other way, starting at the tip of his cock and heading downwards. It didn't stop at his balls, and the guy spent a moment mouthing them, before the tight grip returned to Tony's cock, distracting him. The next thing he knew, the guy held his balls, cradling them in his other hand, crooked his head, and somehow licked deeper between his legs, tongue almost reaching the exact place Tony was so worried about.

He cried out. Then he panted. The pleasure was intense. Without thought, he hobbled, legs restrained by the slacks, and craned his spine further, hoping somehow to let the stranger do his strange thing, whatever it was, because Tony's brain took a vacation someplace other than Arizona right now, and his dick was in good, good hands.

"I love rimming first timers," the guy said with a satisfied smirk. He leaned back, surveying Tony's debauched look, and his hand never stopped moving on Tony's cock. "Now imagine how good it'll be if you dare t' turn your back on me."

Tony wanted to protest the unfairness of the statement, thought better of it, and turned wordlessly, bending a little at the waist. It wasn't real bending, he assured himself, if he wasn't anywhere near the 90 degrees angle.

There was a broken mirror above the sink, a relic, a fixture to represent decent behavior, women fixing their lipstick, men combing their hair after a long drive. Tony stared at himself sideways, red in the face, eyes wild, scared and not scared at the same time. He licked his lips, and closed his eyes.

The next few minutes were like heaven, that is, if heaven involved leaning your hands on a filthy bathroom wall and having a complete stranger do entirely too intimate things to you, and trying hard not to shout again, instead mewling and whimpering and biting your lips. Tony tried not to push back too obviously, but the guy was merciless, licking and slurping, sticking his tongue in deep, constantly jerking Tony in sure, precise strokes. Heaven ended all too soon in a splatter on the tiles. Tony hoped, in some distant part of his brain, that no crime will ever take place in this bathroom that would require anyone swabbing the place for DNA.

Behind him, he could feel the other guy straightening slowly. He looked up, catching his gaze in the mirror.

When he saw Tony looking at him, the stranger licked his lips slowly, provocative. Evocative. Tony moaned again.

"I bet you don't think it's so bad _now_ ," the guy said, challenging. He started stroking himself again, slow and leisurely. 

Tony wondered if he should offer to lend a hand, or if it would be too lame a pun to attempt. The guy noticed his stare.

"Wanna try?", he said, smiling that secret little smile again, like he knew far too much about Tony, and more than that, like it didn't surprise him one bit.

Tony said nothing, only took the two steps and wrapped his fingers around the other guy's dick.

Well, that was different, but not different enough that he forgot what to do. Stroke up, move down, repeat, then rinse. The other guy moaned loudly, not caring if anyone outside heard him. He was good looking; Tony noticed that before, but now he allowed himself to acknowledge it. Those pretty, intense eyes held his for long moments, before the guy shut them tight, threw his head back, and grunted a few times. Tony felt hot, sticky wetness landing on his hand and wrist. Familiar, but he still shuddered. He wanted to kiss the guy again, but didn't dare ask.

The guy grinned, still breathing hard. "Wash yer hands," he advised, friendly, and even that sounded like a come-on. Tony did, soaping and rinsing silently. The guy did the same, and Tony waited. He didn't know why; it would have been better to leave, have a few minutes between them, so no one could see two men walking out of the bathroom together after such a long time. But he stayed. Waited.

He was just locking the door again when he heard someone behind them, calling out; another foreign accent, a little different, high and disbelieving.

"Stuart!", it shouted, "I was gone for four hours! _Four hours_!"

The very unrepentant guy standing next to him, still smelling like sex, beamed at Tony. "This is Vince. He's sorta my boyfriend." Tony had no idea what to say to that.

"Four hours," Vince kept muttering. "Oh my God." He looked at Tony for the first time. "He _is_ cute, alright," he said, as if acquiescing some mediating fact, "but really, I was only gone for four…"

"If it makes you feel better, he lasted about three and a half of those," Tony blurted, unsure of why he even _tried_ setting foot in this conversation.

"You're assuming you were the first," Stuart grinned.

Tony was going to voice his disbelief, but the fond exasperation on Vince's face stopped him. "You serious?"

Stuart waggled his eyebrows. "You'll never know."

"How many gay guys _are_ there in this pit stop?" Tony asked, astonished.

"Seven," Stuart answered without hesitation. "Anyway, I thought _you_ were _straight_ ," he added with a smirk.

"Yeah, I..." Tony felt cornered. Now that they were outside, under the beating Arizona sun, which was a lot more clouded than it should have been, he felt hunted again, worried that anyone would discover his less-than-stellarly-concealed secret. He was already trying to push it from his mind. Sometimes he surprised even himself when it came to how good his denial mechanisms were.

"Oh, relax. You just had some fun," Stuart said. "Don't let it ruin your day." He was chuckling when he added, "You're still a staunch heterosexual."

The other one, Vince, at least had the decency to try and hide his smirk.

"Come on, Stuart. Stop turning the native population," he said good-naturedly, dragging his friend behind him towards the parking lot. Stuart let himself be shepherded away, waving cheerfully at Tony. Numb, Tony waved back. His skin still tingled. His ass was still damp, and he could feel, in sweet memory, how Stuart's tongue drove him mad.

He stood in the parking lot, watching the mountains in the distance, for nearly ten minutes, as the clouds grew heavier and grayer. A storm was brewing somewhere, and he was on the margins of it. A few drops began to fall, and he shrugged, heading towards his car. A thunder rolled in the distance.

And then the rain came, pouring hard, sudden and angry and beautiful. Families rushed to and from their vehicles, and the diner filled within moments. Tony was soaked in twenty seconds, standing motionless in the middle of the asphalt expanse. He took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of wet soil and fresh vegetation, and he let the cool drops plaster his hair to his head and wash his heated skin.

**Author's Note:**

> Note on Valley Fever: “It is dormant during long dry spells, then develops as a mold with long filaments that break off into airborne spores when the rains come.” ~Wiki


End file.
